It’s All About Oliver

As pretty much everyone knows, we have a dog, the best and most precious gift we have ever received.  Oliver is an English Cocker Spaniel from a distinguished family (his dad was the top sire in the country for several years running) and he looks just like his mom, Abby.  He is five years old, extremely intelligent (we sometimes have to spell out words in his presence), with a playful sense of humor. When he was just a puppy he ate something toxic and we almost lost him to liver failure but an indomitable spirit and good doctoring pulled him through.  He is a dog who always seems to rise to the occasion and moving to Panama was, indeed, an occasion.  The first month while we were living in Panama City, Oliver was under “house quarantine” and, coupled with our mutual adjustment to the heat, we spent a lot of time indoors interspersed with short walks through the neighborhood park.  And then we moved to the mountains.  After several months here of perfect health, in late August Oliver contracted tick fever, a potentially fatal disease and one to which North American dogs are particularly vulnerable since they have little or no immunity; apparently some Panamanian dogs are able to brush it off like a bad cold.  Although tick fever affects the liver, it was particularly hard on Oliver because of the insult his liver had suffered when he was a puppy.  We are very fortunate to have found a veterinarian who speaks English, considered to be the best in Panama, who has an animal hospital in Panama City and three separate clinics, one of which is located in nearby Coronardo where he is in residence three mornings a week.  We took Oliver down the mountain immediately and he ended up being hospitalized for ten anxiety-filled days in Panama City (hospitalization cost $12/day).  We are happy and relieved to report he has made a full and complete recovery, all of his blood work is back in the normal range and he appears to have forgotten the whole sorry business.

Spaniels are bird dogs originally bred to flush small game, like quail, pheasant, and rabbit within gun range.  Possessing a keen sense of smell and sight, Cockers were specifically bred to flush the Eurasian Woodcock; hence the name “cocker.”  True to his nature, Oliver has always found pleasure in chasing birds: sea gulls at the edge of the San Francisco Bay, sandpipers at the surf line of Stinson Beach, and the occasional robin or blue jay on our daily walks around Belvedere Island.  It seemed a harmless enough diversion since he’s not the fastest runner so no bird was ever in actual jeopardy.  But now he’s in Panama.  In the rural mountains of Panama chickens run about freely, seemingly belonging to no one and yet, upon closer observation, able to find their way back to their respective homes at mealtime.  They cross the road with abandon, come into the yard without permission, and generally make their presence known.   The mountains are also host to a variety of geese which many people keep as pets and they too roam around in unfenced yards but clearly belonging to one house or another.  I call them “guard geese” because they make quite a ruckus when strangers approach. Panamanian dogs do not chase birds, chickens or geese for to do so would put their lives in peril.

The day we moved into our new house Oliver jumped out of the car and chased a chicken over the fence.  Yes, we have chickens as next-door neighbors; roosters too who herald the dawn of every morning.  Although Oliver is quite capable of walking off leash (he runs ahead but always stops to let me catch up) I soon learned that it was a bad idea in our immediate neighborhood for if he saw a chicken, the chase was on — and chickens are not the fastest runners, especially the chicks.  And one day early on he chased a group of geese.  So whenever we walk in our neighborhood outside of our fenced and gated yard, he is on leash.  Now the plot thickens.  There’s a rooster next door, a black and white fellow with a red comb, who has decided to entertain himself by taunting Oliver.  He sits on the fence dividing the two properties and crows until he gets Oliver’s attention.  Then he jumps down — not onto his own yard but onto ours — and the chase is on.  When Oliver gets too close, the guy flies across the fence and is seemingly gone — until he perches once again on the fence to start the game over again.  It’s quite the scene to witness although the last time we were in the yard Oliver declined to take the bait.  He might just be tired but it’s my guess he has figured out he is being used.  See, I told you he was smart.

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Monsoons and other Matters

Before moving to the Republic of Panama, I lived in Northern California where the weather patterns and temperature fluctuations were generally predictable and ensued logically from the recurring seasons.  We know, for instance, that the leaves turn in autumn, snow falls in winter, tulips bloom in the spring, and summer brings days of warm sunshine.  We know, too, that night falls early at Christmastime and late on the fourth of July.  Home to nearly half the world’s population, the tropics have only two seasons:  the “wet” season and the “dry” season with temperatures remaining more or less constant year-round.  Being between 7 and 9 degrees north latitude of the equator, Panama experiences nearly constant periods of daylight and darkness.  Where we live in the mountains the “wet” season can bring between 90 and 130 inches of annual rainfall; during the dry season, rarely a drop.  Why?  I found myself wondering about these matters and learned . . . well, mostly I learned it’s complicated.  First I found out about the Inter-tropical Convergence Zone which encircles the Earth near the equator and is also known as the “monsoon trough.”  This is a zone where winds originating in the northern hemisphere merge with winds from the southern hemisphere and for reasons that continue to elude me, it is sometimes referred to by sailors as “The Doldrums.”  As I understand it, these winds move back and forth across the equator following the sun’s zenith point, reaching the Tropic of Cancer on the June solstice and back to the Tropic of Capricorn on the December solstice.  During Panama’s dry season which spans from mid-December through March, this zone is located far to our south. As it again migrates north the rainy season commences, usually in April.  After it has passed overhead on its journey toward the Tropic of Cancer, Panama sometimes experiences a mid-season break in rainfall.  And then toward the end of the rainy season (the end of October and November) it migrates south again, passing overhead, and often bringing what we are told can be the heaviest rains of the season.   These days the rain most often comes in the form of sudden intense showers in the afternoon rarely lasting for more than a few hours at a time, allowing for regular dog walks and time in the garden.  I am, however, not inclined to hang anything on the clothes’ line these days.  Sometimes you can actually hear a storm coming — the sound of the rain pelting the ground as it moves up the canyon.  The rain in Panama is a phenomenon to which the word “awesome” actually applies.

The rain, of course, is most commonly accompanied by lightning and thunder.  While there is the proverbial “clap” of thunder imitating the sound of canons in the garden, it is more often a rolling thunder in varying decibels, seemingly erupting from the earth’s core; if I didn’t know better I would guess a volcanic eruption, or perhaps an invasion of Sandinista rebels disenchanted with Nicaragua.  The thunder can rumble for several seconds; sometimes the earth shakes and the windows rattle.  And then there is thunder’s constant companion, lightning, of which there are all kinds ranging from bolt lightning to sheet lightning.  Because we’re up on the mountain there are times when the stars can be bright overhead (the constellation of Orion now prominent in our night sky) and yet the horizon illuminated by sheet lightning over the ocean. Montana is not the only place of big skies.  Sometimes we find ourselves in the clouds, literally.  While dining with neighbors recently, we were entranced as a cloud passed over the dining table, having entered through the screened door.  Oh, and did I mention that we have the unique privilege of watching the sun rise out of the Pacific ocean?  Go figure.

Life . . . uh, finds a way

In the Steven Spielberg movie, Jurrasic Park, there is a conversation between Henry Wu and Dr. Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum) in which Henry says, “You’re implying that a group composed entirely of female animals will breed.”  To which Dr. Malcolm replies, “No, I’m simply saying that life . . . uh, finds a way.”  While the movie may be forgettable to some, there was something about this quote that has always stuck in the back of my mind and comes to the fore from time to time, particularly in recent days as I move about the garden (Remember:  it’s the rainy season).  The quote is not exactly on point because it infers that life will flourish even in the face of impediments. Here, in the tropics, there appear to be no impediments.  As I have said to a few of my friends, “First there was nothing; then there was something; then it needed pruning.”

Although I haven’t read it in many years, I have long opined that my all-time favorite book is Ray Bradbury’s semi-autobiographical novel, Dandelion Wine, first published in 1957.  It is written in the voice of a very interesting 12 year old boy, Douglas Spaulding.  I recall somewhere early in the book there is a incident in which young Douglas breaks a spider web with his face — and thereby knows that that day was going to be different.  Every time I break a spider web with my face or my arm or my leg, I think of Douglas and always anticipate some difference to the day that is before me.  But I digress.

I have always been fascinated by the push and pull between man and the natural world. We mow our lawns and edge our grass; we weed our flower beds and prune our shrubs. Yet here, in the tropics, more than any place I have ever lived, it is clear that one must come to some kind of accommodation with the forces of nature — for nature is irrepressible.  Panama is host to 10,000 species of plant life (90% of which are flowering) including 1,200 orchid species and 675 fern species.  There are 1,500 species of trees.  The rain percolates through the soil into jungle swamps and into rivers.  It can rain 3 inches in an hour.  It can rain so hard that conversation becomes difficult.  When it rains that hard, everyone takes note, even Panamanians who have grown up here.  Mothers and children stand in doorways and simply watch.  Here you can almost feel the tendrils creeping up out of the earth to lay claim to another plot of land.  Without the ever-ready machete, the jungle would claim us all and turn our  automobiles to rust.  Incidentally, on our daily walks Oliver and I routinely encounter men (whom I assume to be gardeners) carrying machetes — a non-concealed weapon.

Bradbury visited this theme in his novel and there is a wonderful quote that I wrote down many years ago in a special book I keep and have recently found again.

“Who could say where town or wilderness began?  Who could say which owned what and what owned which?  There was always and forever that indefinable place where the two struggled and one of them won for a season to possess a certain avenue, a dell, a glen, a tree, a bush. . . .  It was this then, the mystery of man seizing from the land and the land seizing back, year after year, knowing the town never won, merely existed in calm peril, fully accoutered with lawn mower, bug spray and hedge shears.”

Working in the garden, walking the dog, driving down the mountain, all of these moments afford one the sense of the unrelenting force that is the natural world.  We chip away at the rust, bail out the grass, and create “order” out of what we consider to be “chaos.”  But at best our efforts are temporary and must be constantly renewed in our need to control, to tame the natural universe.  I’m doing my share of taming but this is a place where nature knocks at your door with impressive and unrelenting strength.

Life . . . uh, finds a way.

Cartagena

We went to Cartagena de Indias ( or Cartagena of the West Indies) on our get-out-of-town-for-72-hours trip. It’s an easy plane ride from Panama City, just an hour and five minutes.  We landed at the Rafael Nunez International Airport in Cartagena which has one runway and no jetways.  Very reminiscent of landing in Honolulu 50 years ago, deplaning down the stairway.  Then on to immigration, customs, and currency exchange ($1 = 1700 pesos).  It was about a 10 minute cab ride to our hotel, Hotel Casa del Curato, a bed and breakfast in the old walled city.   We quickly checked in, eager to start exploring.

Cartagena is a stunningly beautiful city on the northern coast of Colombia with a population of over 1 million people (making it the fifth largest city in Colombia).  The city was founded in 1533 by Spanish commander Pedro de Heredia and named after Cartagena, Spain, the home of many of Heredia’s sailors.  Its history includes piracy from both the English and French giving rise to the 400 year old wall that was built around the city and remains surprisingly intact. Cartagena declared its independence from Spain in the early 1800s.  In 1984, the colonial walled city was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Our hotel was located in the San Diego section of the walled city, named after San Diego Convent, now known as the Beaux Arts School Building. In front of it is the former Convent of the Nuns of the Order of Saint Claire, now the beautiful Hotel Santa Clara of which I have included a few photos.  A Sofitel hotel, it is an impressive property, expensive yet understated, and still retains the layers of silence appropriate to a site long inhabited by nuns.  Down the lane from our hotel we found Santo Toribio Church and happened to walk by just as a bride and groom were exiting, a picture of which is included in the slideshow below.

Then began four days of walking the narrow and charming lanes that meander through the city, with its tiled roofs and flower-filled courtyards.  Hot and sultry, pulsating with Calypso rhythms, it is teeming with energy and bright colors.  The people were warm and friendly although rumor has it that they hold grudges and have long memories.  Allegedly they do not particularly like the United States since it was the US that fomented the rebellion that led Colombia to lose the land of Panama (1906).  Also they are not fond of the English or the French because of the piracy of the 16th century.

The Downtown area of Cartagena has varied architecture, mainly a colonial style, but also has republican and Italian style buildings.  There are several museums and loads of churches.  We visited the Palace of the Inquisition across the street from the Plaza de Bolivar, a lovely park whose centerpiece is a statue of Simon Bolivar.  Surrounding this plaza are some of the city’s most elegant, colonial buildings, most of which have lovely balconies, as well as the Cathedral of Cartagena which dates to the 16th century. Shaded outdoor cafes line the street and horse-drawn carriages convey tourists through the meandering cobblestone and brick streets.  After dark the drivers light the “headlights” on the carriages, adding to the magic of light and shadow.  Guitar players wander through the streets at night, looking for a spare peso, and music wafts from the doors and windows of bars and cafes.   Street vendors and shop owners were relentless in their attempts to lure passersby into purchasing their goods.  While somewhat annoying, we found it easy to rebuff them by simply saying “No quiero nada.”  (I don’t want anything).

At one edge of the old city, in the shadow of the wall, we found another gorgeous hotel, The Charleston Santa Teresa, which was once the Saint Theresa Cloister.  It fronts on a lovely square where we enjoyed refreshments in the early evening and is a prime place for people watching.  Nearby is the Augustinian Fathers Convent and the University of Cartagena, opened to the public in the late 19th century.   We also visited Las Bovedas (The Vaults) inside the walled city, a series of dungeons constructed for military purposes and now a row of boutiques and shops.

There were many tourists, most of whom appeared to be Spanish-speaking; we saw only a handful of “gringos” who might have been North American.  We heard a family speaking German and saw another family that looked Scandinavian.  We ate twice at a bistro owned by a German fellow from Berlin who said he had been there six years.  We would have liked to learn more about how he came to be in Colombia but he was too busy to chat, having the benefit of a very successful enterprise.  One night we ate at a little restaurant next door to our hotel, La Bruschetta, and during dinner two guitar players came in and offered to serenade the assembled diners (four songs for 20,000 pesos — about $11).  A negotiation ensued, 10,000 pesos changed hands, and the music began.   Another 10,000 pesos followed and the concert continued, with the waiter joining in on percussion.  The last song was Cielito Lindo, the lyrics of which were known by many in the restaurant and all who could joined in.

There were many such magical moments.  Walking by a church to the sounds of Gregorian chants; walking back to the hotel late at night hearing operatic arias; the sound of a horse’s hoof on the cobblestones in the quiet of early morning.  It was a fabulous four days and a trip we are sure to repeat.  If I were a better photographer I would produce a coffee table book, “The Doors of Cartagena”; as you will see from my photos, I loved them.

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The Almighty Dollar . . . and other random observations

Until such time as we change the status of our visas we were told we would be required to leave Panama for 72 hours every 90 days; thus, we were scheduled for a long weekend in Costa Rica in May.  Then, at the last minute, we heard that the law had been changed and we wouldn’t have to leave until we had been here 180 days.  It seems we were in error; we should have gone to Costa Rica.  Fortunately we have a lovely Panamanian attorney (Alfonso) who took our passports to the immigration department, paid a small fine, and assured them we would leave within 180 days.  So it is that we are scheduled for a five day visit to Cartagena, Colombia, in a few weeks time. Cartagena seems like a perfect choice, only an hour’s flight from Panama City, on the edge of the Carribean Sea, and rumored to be quite beautiful with a walled Spanish colonial city dating back to the early 1500s.   Making arrangements for this trip has caused me to reflect on the question of currency exchange which, as the following story will illustrate, I am embarrasingly naive.

In preparing for our trip to Colombia I went on-line in search of a hotel.  I became frustrated because I couldn’t find any prices.  I told Michael, “All the prices are listed in some kind of a code.”  “What kind of code?” he inquired; I replied, “The codes are a bunch of letters and numbers — like COP174800.”  He laughed, good-naturedly, and then explained the “code” was the price in Colombian pesos — at today’s exchange rate COP174800 equals $100 US.

When we first decided to move to Panama, I knew that Panama’s currency (the Balboa) was pegged to the US dollar.  What I didn’t fully appreciate at the time was how important that would turn out to be; I can’t imagine how much more difficult my everyday life would be if I had to calculate a currency conversion with every purchase.  In 1904, at the time of Panama’s independence from Colombia, the Balboa (named for the Spanish explorer Vasco Nunez de Balboa) replaced the Colombian peso as the official currency.  Since its introduction more than a hundred years ago, it has remained fixed to the US dollar at a rate of 1:1 and circulates along with the US dollar as one of the two official currencies of the country.  The Balboa is subdivided into 100 centesimos and all coins are the same weight, dimension and composition (cupro-nickel-clad-copper) as US coins.  Since Panama does not print any banknotes, US banknotes are the only ones in circulation.  In contrast, Colombia’s currency “floats”; today a US dollar equals 1700 Colombian pesos.  So will a cup of coffee cost 2000 pesos?  Although we have no reason to travel, other than the Government’s urging, we are looking forward to our journey and I promise to take my camera.

One more thought about money:  In Panama it is unwise to use either $50 bills or $100 bills in retail establishments.  As far as I can determine, the reason has to do with drug money which, apparently, is often in such form.  When using such a bill one is required to show ID (passport or driver’s license), address, phone number, etc.  The clerk in the retail establishment is required to document all such information which requires additional time.  Best to avoid either (a) causing such delay to others or (b) getting in line behind an inexperienced Gringo.

The Inside Job

When we left our home in Marin County some five months ago, we pondered the question:  what to take / what to leave / what to sell / what to give away.  The cost of a container to ship our “worldly possessions” seemed steep; the going rate for a 20 foot container was in the neighborhood of $8,000.  Furthermore, we were completely unsure of what we would need and/or want.  So we elected to give away as much as possible, sell what was left, and commence our new life with as little “baggage” as possible.  We arrived in Panama with our suitcases; we were soon to receive what remained of our possessions in the form of 18 boxes.  If we were doing it again we would do it differently; we would have brought fewer clothes, more books, and fewer boxes.

Once we had selected a community in which to live and became acquainted with other expats in the area, we were surprised to learn how unusual our decision had been.  In recent days we have seen Victorian houses filled with antiques, modern Malibu-style beach homes with glass and stainless steel.  Clearly the more common choice was to bring one’s “life” along.  As lovely as some of these homes are, it was our desire to “go native”; to have an environment which reflected the weather, the culture, and the country which is our host.  The first thing we did was to remove all draperies and/or curtains.  Not only are window treatments completely unnecessary on our very private acre of land, but we didn’t want anything blocking our view of the lovely grounds which surround us.  Although the house was “furnished,” the silk fabrics and formal style did not seem compatible with our vision of Panama so we moved most of the existing furniture to an empty bedroom, retaining only the dining room table and two asian trunks; it was time to start over.

But what would that mean?  We had more or less agreed that the acquisition phase of our life was over.  In retrospect we saw our former possessions as anchors that had inhibited our freedom.  Having gone through the process of letting go, and enjoying the results, we didn’t want to start “accumulating” again; yet we obviously needed somewhere to sit.    As those of you who have followed our adventures from the beginning will recall, when Marie was visiting in March we found some furniture on the side of the road and purchased a small couch and two chairs for $250 (henceforth known as the “side-of-the-road-furniture”).  This hand-crafted furniture is made primarily of teak and can be used either inside or out.  For indoor use, however, cushions would be required to make it comfortable and we liked the look of the wood so much, we decided on bolsters for the back; the next challenge was to find fabric and foam rubber.  We found a marvelous fabric store in the town of La Chorrerra, some 45 minutes away, where I was successful in finding foam rubber and fabric for the bottom cushions (an ultrasuede for $5.99/yard); however I was unable to find fabric that met my vision for the bolsters.  Finally I broke down and went to a very high-end fabric store in Coronado and bought 2 yards of Tommy Bahama fabric for the bolsters at $29/yard — an outrageous price by Panamanian standards.  Not having a sewing machine with me, the next question was who could make these items for us?  I learned from some local expats of a man in Coronado (Jose) who could do just what I wanted — and for a reasonable price.  I took all the necessary materials to him and we had something of a “conversation,” using the Google language tools on the i-pad.   Although I was uncertain if I had effectively communicated to him what I wanted, I left with his instruction to return in two weeks (dos semanas).  Two weeks later I went back only to discover that nothing had yet been done on my project; I was told to come back in four days (quatro dias).  After four days I returned and again, nothing had been accomplished.  I was told to return in two days time.  And, two days later, somehow, magically, Jose had done exactly as promised, complete with zippers, all for the grand price of $60.  So here are a few photos of the inside of our home.  We still have a few more things to figure out (i.e., how to hang art on these concrete walls), but are feeling more or less “settled.”   We like our little piece of heaven and hope you do as well.

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Today’s Adventure

This morning Oliver and I were invited to go for a walk/hike in Altos del Maria. So first a word about Altos del Maria, locally referred to simply as “Altos.”  Altos del Maria is a gated mountain residential community and its entrance gate is about 2 kilometers further up the road from where we live in the township of Sora.  It occupies some 7,000 acres with lots ranging in size from 1/4 acre to 2 acres and huge areas set aside as open space.  It has over 32 miles of paved roadway and more than 11 miles of nature trails.  There are about 100 homes with fulltime occupants and another 45 under construction.  Until recently Panamanians outnumbered expats but it’s now about half and half.  There seem to be a large number of Canadians, and I’ve met people from Germany, France, South Africa, Great Britain, as well as those from the United States.  It has both valleys and highlands and the elevation ranges from about 1,450 feet to 3,600 feet.  It boasts an average temperature of 75 degrees with 70% humidity.  Its central feature is the Rio Maria, a long and winding river which traverses the development.  Because of its rich volcanic soil (from the world’s second largest extinct volcano in neighboring El Valle de Anton), the flora is abundant and lush, a true Panamanian jungle.  It serves as the habitat for many exotic birds, including tanagers, parakeets, and harpy eagles, and if today is any sample, it is host to a multitude of butterflies. Sloths and monkeys are rumored to reside there but I have yet to see them.

Oliver Cooling Down

Upon hitting the trial, we became immediately aware that water was nearby. After only a few minutes of walking we were overcome by the roar of rushing water and soon a waterfall came into view beneath the jungle canopy. We had a great view of it from the suspension bridge which crossed the river, only the first of many suspension bridges we were to cross. Remember, the rainy season has just begun and yet the roar of the water quickly drowned out the usual bird sounds. The path is concrete and consists mostly of steps, some of which are moss-covered, that go up and down and up and down along the banks of the river. There is a railing all along the way which would be particularly useful if it were raining for I imagine the trail could become quite slippery. The sound from the river constantly mutated depending upon how close we were to it and whether or not another waterfall was nearby; there were perhaps ten separate waterfalls. There were times we would walk very close to the river’s edge and Oliver (and two other new dog friends) were quick to jump in and cool off. There were quiet pools when the river was just a murmur above which we could hear the call of distant birds. There was also an intermittent sound of what I was told were circadas — but unlike any I’ve ever heard before. This sound was like a high-pitched chain saw piercing the jungle.

There was so much to see — too much really to take in. The good news is that it’s only about a 15 minute drive from home so it’s a place we will visit again — and again.

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Old Friends . . . and New Friends

I’ve done a bit of thinking lately about the nature of friendship, past and present. Virginia Woolf once observed, “I have lost friends, some by death — others through the sheer inability to cross the street.”  So friendship takes effort.  I have pondered the challenge of how to keep existing friendships “active” when one is physically so far removed.  I have never been particularly good at speaking on the telephone — I have always felt awkward and tongue-tied — so even though I can call California for a mere $0.08 a minute, I rarely do so.  And, of course, I have the added challenge that cell phone reception is often unsatisfactory here in the mountains of Panama.  E-mail, of course, is a wonderful tool and so much more convenient than traditional letter-writing — but it doesn’t take the place of a good conversation that represents an exchange of ideas and the ability to convey the nuances of one’s heart and mind.  As my brother pointed out, friendships usually have a “mechanism” around which they revolve.  For example, every morning for nearly four years I used to walk my dog with three friends, and their three dogs.  An unusual gift to have the opportunity to spend an hour a day with the same people, with no particular agenda except what we felt like talking about.  The conversations ranged from the profound to the inane but they were always pleasant and meaningful to me.  The “mechanism” for the development of those friendships was, of course, the dogs. Many (if not most) friendships are the result of being drawn together by circumstance — work, children, or dogs — and as our situation changes these friendships necesarily change as well.  Indeed, there is no template for friendship. How then do we restructure those relationships when the “mechanism,” i.e., proximity and/or circumstance, is altered or removed?  Or do we?  One of my dog-walking friends shared with me the concept of  a “crossroads friend,” meaning someone who shows up in your life — or you in theirs — at a time of change or transition.  She used the imagery of currents in a river, coming together, swirling briefly around the rocks, and then dispersing in separate directions.  Surely duration need not be proof of validity.  My relationship with each of my old friends is unique and will evolve or not, will become more or less, as only the future will reveal.   And now I am finding new friends, generated by yet another “mechanism” — that of being an “expat” in a foreign country. We are naturally drawn to one another, sharing not only a common language, history and culture, but having some other connection by the very fact that we have become “expats.”  As someone observed at a dinner party recently, “You’ll find that most of the people who come here are just a little bit different.”   I am grateful tonight for the friends I have had — and for the friends to come.

Imagination . . .

For a while I thought I had been suffering from what is commonly called “writer’s block.”  What does that mean, anyway?  To block something is to cut it off from sight and yet my eyes remained open, my brain continued to process what my eyes observed — and still I was rendered mute.  Had I said everything there was to say?

In pondering this delimma, it occurred to me (actually my sister suggested it) that it might be a result of the enormous changes which we have experienced over a relatively short period of time — and the possibility that we had reached the “other side” of the transit.  Allow me to elaborate.

Since arriving in Panama in mid-February, we have experienced a galaxy of changes:  our sights and senses have been inundated with a panoply of new-ness –flora, fauna, climate, language, customs, sounds — stimuli causing a plethora of neurons firing in the brain.  And now, six weeks after moving into our home (locally known as “Casa Numero Tres”), the excitement has abated, the anxiety has waned, the strangeness has become more familiar, the new-ness has become more ordinary, our lives have taken on the cloak of “normalcy.”   We have, in fact, resumed a sort of routine.  Have we reached the other side of the transit?

It reminds me of the penthouse we lived in in San Francisco which afforded a million dollar view of the City and the Bay — in the beginning we would sit and drink champagne and pinch ourselves for having the privilege of such a vista.  And yet, a year later our lives went on and we rarely noticed the view.  It may not be “contempt” that familiarity breeds but rather a blindness to the value of what is.  Perhaps this process is inherent in our species.  Perhaps that’s one reason many people like to travel — because it causes them to see things anew, like putting on a pair of glasses that corrects one’s vision, even if only temporarily.

How do we counter this tendency?  How do we keep our imaginations lively?  When I ponder now the comfortable life I was living in Marin County I realize, only in reflection, that in addition to the comfort that familiarity provided there was a stagnation that also ensued.  How do I keep that from happening to me here?

The World of Village, Home and Garden

My Great-Aunt Sarah once opined that it was only after seeing a person’s surroundings that one could think of them “intelligently.”  Let’s see how well I can do in increasing your intelligent view of our surroundings.  And since a picture is worth a thousand words, I’ve included photos.

The “village” of Sora is what my mother used to refer to as “a wide spot in the road.”  There is a small hotel and restaurant run by a Chinese family.  There are many Chinese here with a long history dating back to when the French had control of the Canal – but that’s another story.  The restaurant is not well thought of by gringos; apparently the blend of Chinese-Panamanian flavors is not well received by the North American palate.  The same Chinese family also runs the concrete yard and hardware store (where we purchase propane tanks for the stove at $5 apiece, the first one of which has lasted over a month).   They also run the Mini Super where Oliver and I sometimes go for a quart of milk, or just to people-watch.  It also serves as the bus stop so there’s usually an assortment of people waiting for the bus (which is actually a mini-van which travels up and down our mountain to the Panamerican Highway on a more-or-less continuous basis all day long).  There is a school and a police station.  That’s Sora.

Once inside our gate we are surrounded by lovely gardens.  Although it seems counter-intuitive, I enjoy working in this garden more than I did at our home in Belvedere; perhaps because it is optional rather than mandatory.  There are many lovely flowers that seem to come and go quickly.  This morning there was a whole host of white flowers that weren’t there yesterday.   There is a day-long flower that starts its life as a white flower, changes to pink in mid-day and becomes crimson before the end of the day — and its life.  It resembles a large camellia.   Unfortunately I don’t yet know the names of most of the plants but my new friend across the road is an avid gardener and has promised to come over and enlighten me; I promise I will take notes.  It is interesting to see so many trees that I recognize as house plants I had in the 60s.  For example, there are two ficus trees that are easily over 30 feet tall. The ever-changing garden serves as a constant reminder of the transitory nature of life.

The rainy season (known here as the “wet season”) advances and retreats and advances again.   And when it rains here it really rains.  Caught in a rainstorm in Coronado the other day we were forced to stop the car because it was impossible to see.  We have been advised, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”  I am told the rain will completely transform the garden and that flowers will emerge out of bare soil and everything will grow at an alarming rate.  As we drive down the mountain we notice a lot of controlled burning of the undergrowth going on in anticipation of the coming season.

We continue to spend most of our time outside – mostly on the front porch but we’re going to buy chairs to put under our favorite tree.  Even on the hottest afternoons (estimated temperature of 85 degrees), there is always a breeze and we are rarely uncomfortable.  There have been a few evenings when I’ve needed a sweater around 9 o’clock when Oliver and I go out for our last circumnavigation of the property.

We are having fun decorating and in a few weeks time I will have photos for you of the interior of our little house.  We are resisting the impulse to try to get it done all at once and every day we add a little something new.  Yesterday we bought some large terracotta pots and some wonderful masks to hang on the wall; we also found a slab of tree that we are going to use as a desk.  We are having a few challenges hanging things because the walls are concrete and don’t take well to nails; oh the learning curve . . . .

New challenges, new thoughts, new growth, new perspectives.

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